


you're a canary, i'm a coal mine

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (canon/simon), (power difference), Alternate Canon, Consent Issues, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff and Angst, Manipulation, Past Abuse, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9666428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: The waiting is the worst part.When Magnus portaled her off to Idris, she expected a sham trial if that, and then to be burned alive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from fob's _I've Got All This Ringing In My Ears And None On My Fingers_

The waiting is the worst part. 

When Magnus portaled her off to Idris, she expected a sham trial if that, and then to be burned alive. Not that she was relishing the prospect, but she certainly didn't expect to be kept prisoner for days on end. The guards- not Silent Brothers, they had all been slaughtered apparently- were the chatty type, dropping crumbs of information nearly every day. 

The war on Valentine had moved forward allegedly, and she was no longer a priority. At least they keep her fed, even if it is cow's blood. And then they began talking of a new law, a softening to try and mend fences with downworlders. It sounds like utter tripe, but when one of them says, 'maybe we'll finally get to go out into the field again with all them on probation', Camille gives it a second thought. 

True, she could have stopped Maria, but that den was found under Raphael's leadership and had been perfectly average before she was taken out of command. It wasn't _her_ problem that Raphael always had a problem leading everyone, could only manage his favorite darlings. 

Camille's lips curl up into a smile, she knew just the faerie that owed her a favor. 

.

Meliorn is neither pleased nor displeased, has clearly been spending too much time in the seelie realm. Nevertheless, he agrees to pass along her message to the Fairchild girl. 

Clary takes the bait, and Camille has a court date. 

.

Clary comes to see her ten minutes before, and Camille thought the girl would come sooner, hadn't expected her to simply accept the terms she sent through Meliorn. 

“How do I know you'll keep your promise?” Clary asks, not a hint of finesse. 

Camille swallows a sigh, unfortunately can't afford to alienate her. “For the next month I will be in your custody, that should be ample time.” 

Clary crosses her arms, “You'll do your best to help Simon?” 

“I'm his sire, I will teach him anything he wishes to know. And if he does not wish to see me, I will teach you.” 

Clary's brows furrow, and Camille restrains from arching her own, surprised. She would have thought the mouthy young vamp would have complained to his best friend about all the horrid things the vampires had done to him. Curious. It opens up a dizzying array of possibilities, too many to consider right now. 

“Alright,” Clary says slowly, and the guards come to escort her to her hearing. 

The inquisitor is Zella Aldertree, and Camille relaxes, her few remaining worries abated. She knew how to play this. 

“Camille Belcourt, former clan leader of New York, you are brought here today under the accusations of allowing Maria's den to fester. How do you plead?” 

“Not guilty,” Camille says clearly, tries not to delight too much at the few blatantly appalled faces in the crowd. 

“Very well, do you have any proof of your claim?” 

Camille allows a wry smile, “No more than the Clave unfortunately. When I was coven leader, I had no qualms reporting any unruly nests I found. There were three over the years, two I dealt with personally and one that was too large and I was happy to receive the Clave's aid for. I have worked as an informant and always put the interests of the world before my coven. Sadly the same cannot be said for Raphael, the new leader of the New York coven. I believe his inexperience led to Maria's den growing at such a rate underneath his very nose.” 

Zella nods, eyes flicking over a report. “Your account does match what the New York Institute sent us. However there is the matter of you refusing to appear before your respective institute for questioning.” 

Camille nods, “I took an impromptu vacation, I would have missed any missive they sent me.” 

“One month under observation, but I move for all charges to be dropped,” Zella says. “Clarissa Fairchild, you are willing to take responsibility for Ms. Belcourt?” 

Clary looks almost queasy, but she still nods. “I do, I am.”

Camille smirks at her fumble, and the inquisitor calls for a warlock to set up a portal and her spell.

Out in the main hall, Clary looks about to turn on her, and Camille says, “Not here.” 

Clary gets it, quicker than she expects, and then the warlock is joining them. 

He has a leather band, and requests a strand of Clary's hair to bind the spell. “This will allow you to move freely in your own or her house. It will disintegrate in a month's time. Outside you will need to be within ten feet of one another. Where is the portal to go?”

Clary turns to her with wide eyes, “You can't live in the institute.” 

Camille nearly laughs, “No. I have houses all over the world, where would you like to stay?” 

Clary shakes her head, “New York, we should be in New York.”

Camille shrugs, and the warlock is already finishing the portal. Together, they go through, and Clary's hand is warm, nearly unbelievable. 

.

Clary turns out not to care that much about her throwing Raphael under the bus, practically forgets about it in favor of asking Camille about all the artwork she has hanging up. The girl is especially drawn to the Klimt, and Camille couldn't be more pleased. 

The days pass quickly, an easy camaraderie developing. It means that Camille bites back half the comments she wants to make- about shadowhunters, about the Clave, about Clary's little friends- but it also means Clary seems to have forgotten everything Camille has done. It's curious, but Camille doesn't want to prod at their fragile truce. 

Unsurprisingly Simon doesn't come around, and Camille spends many evenings teaching Clary about vampire history. One Saturday, late into the night, they sit on her porch, gazing up at the stars as Camille tells Clary about how she turned. She doesn't bother sugar-coating it like she usually does, thinks the last person she told the true story to may have been Magnus. 

It feels inevitable, and Clary doesn't have words when she's done. She inches closer instead, kisses her until she's breathless. 

.

It lasts a week past when the band falls off. 

A few weeks of bliss, of Clary drawing her, of Camille reading poems long forgotten, of Clary even offering her neck a few nights. (Clary tastes better than any shadowhunter ever has. So good, she should have known the end was near.)

And then Clary comes home one night, yelling as soon as she's through the door. 

“You abused Simon!” 

Camille can't help but roll her eyes, “I also killed him darling, I would have thought that would be your issue.” 

Clary exhales, disbelieving, “You made me forget somehow. You- you did something.” 

Camille's lips thin, “Yes, because I'm the big bad downworlder and you're the innocent baby shadowhunter who just didn't know better?” 

Clary's eyes go wide, and Camille's too angry to let her off easy, slinks over to her. “You chose _me_ darling. You were selfish, you don't get to blame that on me.” 

Camille kisses her once more, only stops when Clary responds, a vindictive smile on her lips. 

“Come back when you decide what you want.” 

Clary stumbles backwards, a hand on her lips. “I'm not- I'm not coming back.” 

“Of course,” Camille says, softer, persuasive. “Unless you decide you don't want to die.” 

And Clary looks as though she slapped her, leaves without another word. Camille pours herself a glass of blood, won't let Clary's reaction get under her skin. 

She'll come around, they always do.


End file.
